


Searching

by SwAgAmAnDeR



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwAgAmAnDeR/pseuds/SwAgAmAnDeR
Summary: !Endgame Spoilers!It's been five years since half the world up and vanished, four and a half years since S.H.I.E.L.D. admitted they definitely did not have the situation under control, and four years since the near collapse of society. Five years of Wade Wilson being completely, heart-achingly alone.And now, at the snap of a finger, everyone is back.Including Peter Parker, who seeks out Deadpool to help him regain some sense of normalcy. Deadpool isn't too sure why.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize mcu Peter is like 15. But, in this fic, he starts off as 18. Just so y'all know.
> 
> So this may look familiar to some of y'all. It was originally written a long time ago as speculation, but I've updated it to be (semi) consistent with Endgame canon. Gonna try to finish it before FFH canon breaks this fic like Endgame did.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! This is my first ever Marvel piece, and the first thing I've written in like 6 months...depression + college is a bitch, y'all.
> 
> *previously titled 'Let the Light In'*

Peter sat atop the roof of one of the many high rises on 54th Street, gazing distantly at the sunrise before him. He kicked his legs absentmindedly, heels hitting the brick underneath him with a dull “ _thump_ ”. It had been a long day, and a long afternoon, and a long night. After his regularly scheduled patrol, he tried to sleep. Really, he _did_. But he couldn’t, at least not with the numbing buzz of his spider senses in the back of his skull.

See, that was the issue: for the past twenty-four hours, it had felt as though someone had stuck a cicada in the spot where his neck and skull met. Odd, considering that it was typically only an indicator of, you know, _immediate_ danger. But yet, Peter sat atop the roof unscathed and confused. Nothing questionable had happened that day, even on his second patrol of the night.

His thoughts were stopped by a slight scraping sound on the southwest corner of the building. He sprang to his feet and prepared to aim his web shooters in the direction of the noise, feeling his heart race as his spider senses neither intensified or stopped, leaving him suspended in anxiety.

He watched as a red and black cap slowly peeked over the edge, katana handles sticking out from behind his shoulders like bunny ears.

Peter exhaled heavily, not quite realizing how long he had been holding his breath, “…Deadpool?”

“Man, I guess you really do have spidey senses,” the man said, not moving from his barely visible position, “I thought I maxed out my stealth skill,”

“Just a long night, Deadpool,” Peter’s arms were crossed over his chest, a bit more relaxed now that he knew that the sound _wasn’t_ the sound of someone trying to murder him (although, he never really knew with Deadpool). Anxiety was still pressing at the small of his brain.

“I can see that,” the man began to hoist himself onto the ledge fully. There was a plastic bag hooked around his elbow, “I appreciate you making the effort to organize a romantic, post-patrol, sunrise breakfast overlooking New York City, Spidey, but maybe next time don’t leave the address line blank,” He walked up so that he was squarely in front of Peter, matching his pose of crossed arms, “Speaking of, any reason why you’re here at, you know, 5:30 in the morning? Normally you’re home a lot earlier,”

Peter blinked at him.

“Not that there’s any reason for me to know that,”

Peter sighed and walked back over to the edge of the building, lowering himself down into the same position as before. This was their ritual. If they both were free at sunrise, they would meet on a rooftop and share a hearty meal of Mexican takeout. It had started around six months ago after Peter had finally given in to Deadpool's incessant pleas to "hang out". Honestly, he didn't mind. The older man was funny, loyal, and even kind once you got to know him. Peter would even go so far as to consider them friends, which is significant since all of his other relationships with the Avengers are strictly business. The larger man followed him to his seat, whistling some tune that Peter had heard before. Whitney Houston, he thought, but didn’t have the energy to try to remember its name.

“Yeah, or he’s cheating on us,” Deadpool said to some empty space behind Peter’s left shoulder.

Peter didn't particularly mind the boxes either. They were kind of endearing, actually, when they weren't being mean. He looked over to see that Deadpool had been offering him a burrito. He gladly took it and began to unwrap the foil, “You know that I get self-conscious when the boxes talk about me without you telling me what they’re saying,”

“Yellow was pointing out you’re a lot more spacey than normal, and White said you probably just had a bad night, which, you know, _meh_. My bet’s on either universe-shattering plot twist or you have another lover,”

“ _We_ aren’t lovers, Deadpool,” He had already finished his burrito and gave the ball of paper to Deadpool to put back into the takeout bag, who just threw it down into the streets below, “It’s just…my spider sense has been acting up. Been buzzing constantly for the last day or so,”

Deadpool let out a dramatic gasp, “The Amazing Spider-Man has a flaw?"

“It’s really getting to me, Deadpool,” Peter didn’t like how his voice trailed off at the end, as if all of his energy had been drained.

The other man didn’t seem to notice, “Hey, I’m sure it’s alright baby boy. You know, it could be worse. Remember that time with the Chameleon? That was some fucked up shit. Yeah, I know, I _did_ look good in his suit-“

Peter stared blankly at him, “What?”

“What? Not this timeline? Sorry, _sorry_ ,” He cleared his throat, threw one leg over the other, and folded his hands in his lap in an expression of mock professionalism, “So you really are messed up by this, huh?”

“Yes, Deadpool, I-“

“Well, fight any supervillains with a grudge lately?”

“No, just low-profile thieves and the like,”

“Heard any news of an alien invasion?”

“…No?”

“Have you been allergy tested lately?”

“Uh-“

“Is it _me_?”

Peter paused for another quick-fire question to hit, but it never came. He looked up and Deadpool and saw him waiting expectantly, noticed something like a nervous tick, his thumb running lightly over the pads of his finger, “No, Deadpool,” He let out a light laugh, “If anything, I feel better around you than anyone else in this city,”

Deadpool laughed too, a harsh bark of air from his lungs, “Aren’t you the Avengers’ poster child, though?”

“The Avengers are my colleagues, Deadpool,” He smiled and pointed a finger at the flimsy plastic bag that the man still had hooked around his index finger, “ _You_ bring me post-patrol burritos at 5:30 in the morning,”

Deadpool looked at Peter, down to the bag, and back, “Touché. But!” He pointed a finger right back at him, “You don’t even know my name,”

Peter thought for a moment. True, he didn’t. It’s not that it was private knowledge - he was pretty sure that S.H.I.E.L.D. had every piece of information available on the mercenary - he just had never asked.

“What’s your name, Deadpool?”

“Wade, of course,” His thumb was back to his finger pads.

“Wade?”

“Wade.”

“Wade…”

Peter liked the name. Liked how it sounded, how it started at his lips and traveled all the way back to the base of his tongue.

“Any chance I get your name?” Wade’s hands were on his hips, “Or did I just overshare like some drunk girl in the bathroom of a bar?”

Peter looked at Wade for a moment. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was the buzz at the base of his skull, maybe it was the way that he could hear the shy yet eager tone of his voice. Peter doesn’t know why, but he took a deep breath, and let out the word: “Peter.”

Wade’s head snapped to look directly at him. He saw the wheels turning, saw him begin to move closer towards him.

“And that,” Peter pointed a finger at him and walked backward quickly, “Is all you get,”

And then he slid himself off of the high rise.

He heard Wade’s celebratory hoots as he webbed his way home, “This is not the end of this, Petey!” Peter found himself smiling, despite the buzzing in his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hear you, reader, saying "but in the movies Peter's Spidey senses didn't do that!". Firstly, we don't *know* that, we just know they peak when the ship comes down. Secondly, they've sent him into hypersensitive, paranoia mode before (See: Deadpool Annual #2. Go read it. It's good.). Wade also references that issue in here, so brownie points if you find it.
> 
> This the first time I've ever posted a fic without having it completed first, so we'll see how it goes. Right now college is kicking my ass, but I'll try to update as often as possible.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think, if they're out of character, if theres a big plot hole, if you like it, etc.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade finds himself abruptly alone.
> 
> *Warning for non-descriptive violence*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my universe is a bit odd. Assume all (most) parts of the mcu are canon in this, except replace the mcu Spiderman with the character/storyline of the Andrew Garfield Spiderman. Also some comics are canon. Sorry for the messiness. I'll try to explain when necessary.

It was a casual Tuesday when Deadpool found himself sitting in the musty, worn-out cellar otherwise known as Sister Margaret's, absolutely furious as he watched the small, square T.V. hung on the wall.

“Can you _believe_ this, Weasel? I hate all of these hero types. No sense of self-preservation, doing _good_ just to be good, it’s _sickening_ -“

“Wade, like two days ago you came in here boasting about how you were going to be a hero now,” The blonde didn’t look up from the glass he was cleaning.

“Ok, but these lunatics do it because they get a damn boner whenever they feel self-righteous. I swear to god Tin Man must have some sort of news crew who just follows him around waiting for some sort of alien orgy to happen, because there is _no way_ ,” Wade jabbed a finger at the close-up news footage of Iron Man flying into the sky, “that was taken on an iPhone,”

“I don’t know man. They _are_ at the top of their class nowadays,“ Weasel stopped his cleaning to lean onto the bar and look at the TV.

“And _Spiderman_ ,” Wade fumed, gesturing wildly at the TV, ignoring the anxiety it gave him to see the playback footage of the red speck on the spaceship, “specifically promised me he was meeting me for chimichangas tonight, but yet there he is, clinging to the side of a ring of alien death. Do you know how long space travel takes, Weasel? Longer than it takes to make it back for our 6:30 reservation,”

“Food trucks take reservations?” He made a quizzical look, which is more than he normally gave the chaotic man

Deadpool sank his head into his hands, “I told the guy I’d stop dying in his area if he gave Spidey and me all the Mexican food we could eat tonight, which is a stupid deal anyways since he always sets up right where all the criminals hang out, and it’s not like I kill _myself_ , other people do it, which technically I can’t control. ‘Bad for business’, he says. Yeah, well, it’s bad for _my_ -“

There was the sound of shattering glass in front of him.

“Weasel, that sounded expen-“ Wade said, looking up. Then he looked left, then right, then forward again. No Weasel. Huh.

He turned around to see the bar suspiciously more empty than he remembered. Nearly half as empty. And when his eyes landed on a patron asleep in the far corner of the bar, he caught the tail-end of his body turning to dust.

Huh.

There was momentary silence in the bar, floating in the air as an unspoken “ _What the actual fuck_ ”. Some people looked at Deadpool, the sole sort-of-kind-of hero in the place. Some people poked their toe at the dust and waved their hands through where the people had sat moments before. Someone shiftily slid their hand across a table and a grabbed a wallet that one of the disintegrated had left there.

The silence faded away as there was faint screaming from outside the heavy wooden bar doors.

Deadpool followed the chaos, still silent, wondering vaguely if this was a reckoning of sort.

[Could you even _die_ in a reckoning?]

Wade swatted the box away angrily. Ever since the roof incident with Peter a few days ago, Wade’s mind had been in peaceful silence. But of course, leave it to mass level chaos for the nasty little things to rear their heads again.

There was indeed screaming outside. People were crying, too. Multiple cars had smashed themselves into the sides of the street. There was a faint cloud of grey dust in the air, and the smell of something burning. Deadpool was acquainted with things going Absolutely Wrong, but this time it felt different, sending shocks of electricity up his spine.

(Maybe you’re like a Spiderman of death! My death-senses are tingling~)

[I’m pretty sure Spidey-senses are just an abstract form of death-senses, though]

He grabbed his phone out of his belt and quickly selected the contact “Spidey”, with a spider emoji. The line rang for about 30 seconds until a familiar voice filled the speaker.

“ _Thank you for calling the phone of The Amazing Spiderman. Business inquiries only, please. Leave a message at the-_ “

(It's almost like he's ignoring us,)

Deadpool scrolled to a newer contact, “Petey”, with a peach emoji. Peter had given him his number the day following the roof incident, after Wade had promised to not use it to extort any other information about the man. Wade had been happy to be the first superhero to make it into Peter's personal phone. The line, again, rang for about 30 seconds.

“ _You’ve reached Peter. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you-_ “

[Of course he doesn't have service in space, dumbass,]

Panic started at his heart and climbed up into his throat until he almost couldn’t breathe.

Yes, Peter was a strong, independent superhero who could take care of himself, but Wade also just watched playback footage of him hurtling into space _seven hours ago_.

And for all that Wade gave the Avengers shit, they always won. Always. It was their schtick.

But this didn’t look an awful lot like “winning”, Wade thought as he looked out into the streets filled with screaming and fire.

Something wasn’t right. He felt it in his core.

He scrolled through his contacts again, searching for someone who owed him a favor, and who either a.) had access to a rocket, or b.) was in space.

Most didn’t answer. Whether that was due to disintegration or panic or just not wanting to deal with Deadpool shenanigans, Wade wasn’t sure. Those that did answer told him to fuck off.

Everyone who had disintegrated had definitely not come back by now, which was reason for alarm. At a loss and panicked, he decided he couldn't just sit there and do _nothing_.

So, he started moving. Stopped by Dr. Strange’s lair. Or, at least the front of it, since he couldn’t break the door down. Damn magicians.

Went to find Matt Murdock, who refused to talk to him.

“Deadpool,” he was still in daytime attire, his stick tapping the ground in some sort of absent-minded pattern, “We are _all_ looking for people. I cannot help you, I’m sorry,”

He even went to S.H.I.E.L.D, stood on the steps being told it was a “classified issue” over and over until he finally decided to just shove past the suited men holding him back. They shot him in the head, of course.

He did that routine again, every day for the next few weeks. Phone calls, Strange, Murdock, S.H.I.E.L.D, anyone else who he thought might help.

After all, what else could he do?

[Think all the liquor from Weasel’s bar has been taken yet?]

The world was in practical anarchy. Too many authoritative figures gone at once, too much panic. The crime rate had already skyrocketed, and the firefighters and police officers hadn’t started dispatching again until at least 3 days after the incident.

So many people disappearing meant that Deadpool was out of a job, for the most part. If the client survived, chances were their target had vanished. If the target survived, chances were the client had vanished.

(Eh, just wait a week. It shouldn’t take too long for people to piss each other off again,)

S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t released anything, trying to somehow hide the fact that half of the world had up and disappeared.

Wade hadn’t heard from Peter.

For the first time in a long time, he felt lonely.

He went through his “favorited” contacts, ignoring how pitiful he knew he was being.

“Petey”, with a peach emoji.

“Spidey”, with a spider emoji.

“Weaner”, with a beer emoji.

“Hugh Jackman”, with a heart emoji.

“Brown Panther”, with a taxi emoji.

Huh.

He really was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, an update during finals week?
> 
> Hopefully there will be more to come over break. My goal is to finish this well before any major Avengers 4 plot details are released so that my fic isn't broken by canon.
> 
> Speaking of, the A4 trailer came out this week. What did y'all think? I especially loved Ronin.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I know it's been slow so far, but you guys keep me going. Please comment with any comments you have, like out of character-ness, if I need to write the boxes better, if it gets too angst, etc.
> 
> Thanks all <3


	3. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade searches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning for suicide and violence*

_One Year After_

Wade stood at the monoliths solemnly in his suit. He saw the looks people gave him, heard their whispers. Evidently, it was a surprise to the public that Deadpool, too, had people to mourn.

The tall, cream memorial bricks had only recently been put up, just a week following Captain America's bullshit T.V. spot. "We need to try to move on," he had said. Bullshit.

He found Weasel's name first, and then Dopinder's, by accident. There were sixty-seven Peters.

* * *

 

_Two Years After_

It was at this point that Deadpool executed his first heist on the Avenger's tower. He had rappeled up the smooth glass, up to the twentieth floor. How the guards didn't notice him, he'll never know.

It was Tony he was looking for, really. After all, if Tin Can hadn't given Peter that new, weird suit he never would have been up in space in the first place.

Tony wasn't there, though. Natasha and Steve were, although they wouldn't tell him where Stark had gone.

The pair looked washed up. Eye bags and unkempt, Wade knew they felt as much guilt as everyone else had placed on them.

Wade didn't come there to talk, though.

He woke up in an alley a few blocks away, his skin still in the process of sewing itself back together.

* * *

 

_Three Years After_

Most people had moved on at this point. New kids were born, new spouses were married, new friends were made.

As someone who had disappeared for a length of time in his own origin story, he found it sick.

He tried to remember them. He visited Sister Margaret's weekly, he checked to make sure no one had stolen Dopindar's cab, he visited the Mexican food truck and bought a double order of burritos some mornings.

It _hurt_ , though.

He went to the bar one night, took home the prettiest man he could find.

After he left, Wade sat down on the couch and blew his brains out.

* * *

 

_Four Years After_

It had always made Wade feel weird when people forgot about their lost loved ones. How could people go out, act happy, and have a new family when their old one had been torn apart not even five years ago?

He was alone a lot. Dopinder's cab disappeared one day and Deadpool couldn't bring himself to track it down. He had stopped visiting the food truck all together because forcing himself to eat a double order made him sick. He avoided Sister Margaret's, too, and all of the memories it gave him.

He worked more, took on riskier and more involved jobs. Anything to occupy him. During one job, there was a female mercenary with a pretty smile and a perfect aim who asked Deadpool to team up the next time either of them had a job to do.

Deadpool just couldn't do it. He skipped town for a few months to avoid the issue.

* * *

 

_Five Years After_

Wade was sharpening his katanas over the kitchen sink when he heard a scream from outside his window. He sighed. He knew he lived in a bad neighborhood, but come on.

He jumped as his phone began to buzz in his pocket, a call from an unknown number.

"Hell-"

"Uh, yeah, 'Pool, this is Weasel calling from a pay phone outside of Sister Margaret's. I know you suck at giving me favors, but I just woke up and there was some other douchebag bartending like he owns the place. I think he must have hit me upside the head or some-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way," Wade hung up, his mind racing.

Either his hallucinations really had gotten worse or the Avengers had finally done something right.

His heart raced as he swiped through his old contacts.

He called Spiderman. There was no answer.

[Still no service in space, dumbass,]

* * *

 

_Five Years and A Month After_

The Avengers had indeed righted their wrongs. They were congratulated, of course, but Wade didn't see the point. It was their fault this whole mess happened anyways.

Wade called Spiderman daily. He knew it was clingy, but he really missed the fucker.

[Settle down, Princess. You guys knew each other for what, a year before the Snap?]

(Yeah, Wade, the kid just woke up from a five-year coma. He probably has bigger fish to fry than his charity case.)

Wade ignored comments like that. Yes, he never answered, but that was fine. His phone bill just probably stopped being paid for.

He watched the Iron Man and Black Widow memorial service on T.V.

Most of the world's superheroes were there. Wade had only heard of the big battle after the fact, as he was never invited. That was a shame, he thought, with his healing factor and everything.

He scanned the crowds.

"No Spidey," he noted.

(No sightings from the rest of New York, either)

[There are only two coffins, right? Not three? The angle's weird,]

"That's ridiculous," Deadpool shifted in his seat, "Petey's _fine_ ,"

He still left, though. Speed walked right over to the makeshift Avenger's HQ, set up in a retired Pizza Hut. He was Very Calm. This was just a reassurance.

"Just covering all my bases," Wade mumbled to himself.

[Stop kidding yourself. I bet you can't even make it home without offing yourself if you find out he's not ok,]

(I hear the water in the Hudson is nice and warm today,)

He wasn't shot immediately upon entering, which was a kind gesture.

"Spiderman," he asked the nearest agent, "I didn't see him at the memorial. Is he alive?"

There were some whispers and some frantic heartbeats in Deadpool's chest.

"Spiderman is alive," the agent spoke in a monotone voice, "However he has requested that no other information be released,"

Wade's chest deflated and he barked out a laugh. He began his journey home.

"See, he's _fine_. Why was I even worried?"

* * *

 

_Five Years and Six Months Later_

Still no Spiderman. Wade waited. Waited on rooftops, around Avenger's HQ, around the entirety of Queen's. He looked for webs stuck to buildings, listened to police interceptors, repeatedly called him.

No answer or evidence. He had been missing for five years, and now that he was back in New York, he was missing again.

[Maybe he didn't miss you as much as you missed him,]

"But he's not _anywhere_ in New York," Wade sat in his kitchen, drumming his fingers against the sticky granite.

(Have we already ruled out 'revolted by you so much that he skipped town'?)

"There's no Spiderman in the news _anywhere_ in the world," Wade whined.

[I say that we have waited an acceptable amount of time. Stalking could be an option now.]

"No, I told you, _no_ stalking, no matt-"

Wade was interrupted by a knock at the door. He sighed and pulled his mask down over his face.

He grabbed his gun, undid the deadbolt, and swung open the door. There was a young man standing there, older than 16 but definitely under 20. He had shaggy maple hair and was wearing a worn-down, oversized hoodie. He looked scared and pale. His eye bags rivaled Wade's. Cute, Wade had to admit, but he had interrupted his _Operation Find Spidey_ planning.

"I'm allergic to Girl Scout Cookies," he deadpanned and swung the door closed. The kid caught the door with his foot, which was...surprisingly strong?

"Actually, I-"

"Or if you're looking for someone, they aren't here, kid," Deadpool pushed the door against his foot but it didn't budge, "Can you, uh, _move_ your foot? I'm asking nicely here, which if you knew who I was you would know how lucky you are,"

The man in front of him sighed and looked frantically into Wade's eyes, "Wade, it's Peter,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just redo this entire fic after watching endgame? Oh hell yeah
> 
> A bit of a filler, but don't worry, whump comes next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
